Tales Told in a Minor Key
by LarielRomeniel
Summary: A series of vignettes based in the “Tracking Torchwood” universe some serious, some not.
1. Chapter 1 You Go To My Head

A series of vignettes based in the "Tracking Torchwood" universe. Some will be serious, as implied by the title. Minor keys are frequently used for somber songs. But they can also be used for upbeat music, and this first vignette is indeed upbeat, inspired by Jack's dance with Rose in "The Empty Child."

For Aibhinn, who's had a rough week!

Kit and Raphael are mine. All else belongs to the BBC, except for Ed Murrow. He belongs to history.

* * *

"_Khazala'ist!_ Can he _be_ any more stupid?" 

"Language, Kit-kat," Raphael mildly scolded his student as he materialized next to her on the balcony. He kept his power muted, only his eyes shining with the brilliance of the Vortex. "So, something is interfering with history?"

"There." Kit pointed over the London rooftops toward Big Ben. "The same thing I told you about before, but now it's worse. He had some sort of tractor beam going before, right in the middle of the bombing. And now look. Bad enough he parked an invisible spaceship right next to a landmark. But now he's walking on top of it!"

Raphael leaned against the railing and gazed out, his glowing amber eyes picking out minor details that Kit couldn't see in her full human form. "Hmm. And he's not alone, I see."

Kit growled as the invisible spaceship became visible. "I guess he _can _be more stupid! They're standing on top of a spaceship in the middle of the Blitz…drinking champagne!"

"A man who drinks Dom Perignon isn't all that bad," mused the archangel. He raised an eyebrow when Big Ben lit up. "But then again…."

"Stupid _khazala'enten_—"

Raphael gave her what he obviously intended as a stern look, but she could see the smile tugging at his lips. "Language, Kit-kat!"

She rolled her eyes. "So, what do we do about him?"

"Nothing," Raphael told her, holding up a hand when she opened her mouth to protest. "That is part of what must be, and you aren't here to interfere with it."

"But Murrow's gonna be up here for his next broadcast in just a few minutes!" Kit fretted. "And what's he gonna see? Captain Champagne dancing with some girl on top of a spaceship!"

"Not if you stop him," Raphael pointed out. "This little dance has to play out, so you need to… _delay_ Mr. Murrow for, oh, about five more minutes."

"And make him late for his broadcast?" Kit asked with wide eyes. "They'll fire me for that."

"You like being a CBS secretary so much?"

She snorted. "No. I'd rather be a reporter! But if I'm fired, I won't be here to watch out for him."

"Quite all right, Kit-kat. Your Sojourn here is done after this," Raphael told her.

She raised an eyebrow. "But there's still months left in the Blitz, and…"

"You're forgetting to listen. Stop for a moment."

She cocked her head to listen to the Music. Her eyes widened as she heard a melodic line she hadn't noticed before. "I'm only here to keep him from seeing them! I can see part of their timeline now…but why does it fuzz out?"

"You see what you're meant to see," Raphael answered. "Off with you, now. Don't want to mess up the timeline."

She chuckled. "Well, one good thing about getting sacked. I don't have to wear this getup anymore!" She brushed distastefully at her clothes. "The skirt's too tight, the heels hurt and don't get me started on the garters!"

* * *

"Ooh, garters. I like the sound of that," Jack said as Kit paused in her narrative. He laughed when she rolled her eyes at him. "So how'd you end up keeping him from seeing us?" 

She turned pink. "Ummm…well…"

"C'mon, Angel. You can tell me anything," Jack urged as he stepped off the ladder and put down the pruning shears. He sat next to her on the bench in the middle of the Cloister room. "How'd you do it?"

"Well, I kinda…threw myself at him."

Jack's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You made a pass at your boss?"

Kit shook her head. "No, I mean I _threw_ myself at him. Tackled him from midway down a staircase, telling him it wasn't safe to go out and file his report."

"Ouch!" Jack chuckled. "That must've hurt!"

"It did!"

"I meant him! I still have the bruise from when you tackled _me_ the night we met!"

Giggling, she poked an elbow into his ribs. "You do not!" She paused for a moment, and in a prim voice added, "I've checked."

He snickered again. "And they sacked you for it?" When she nodded, he went on, "Captain Champagne, huh?"

"Well, you do go to my head," she answered with a wink.

He slipped his arms around her. "Oooh. Like the sound of that even better." He kissed her, then pulled back and gave her a hopeful look. "Garters?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Convince me."

He grinned slyly. "Oh, you know I like a challenge."


	2. Chapter 2 Elegy

Another vignette, and some comfort for the Doctor.

Author's note: A follow-up on a conversation at the end of "War in Heaven." Also influenced by a verse sent to me in IM by wendymr.

Still don't own it.

* * *

The TARDIS nudged him just before he heard Kit's soft, slightly shaky voice. "Is that offer still open? I think...I think I need to talk." 

The Doctor looked up from his book. She'd entered the library in a dressing gown, her hair mussed from sleep. Or rather, lack of sleep, he thought, noting the dark circles under her eyes. He set the book aside. "Something other than Jack keeping you up tonight?" he asked, not quite teasing.

A brief, sad smile crossed her face before she sighed, "It's too quiet."

"Quiet? Didn't you tell me once that Jack snores?"

Another quick glimmer of a smile, vanishing in a blink. He motioned to the chair facing his. She sat and curled up in it, hugging her knees but not speaking. He watched her for a moment, and then said, "Shared burdens are lighter, Kit."

"I thought…" She paused and sighed again, and then went on, "Usually it's enough for me to listen to his heartbeat. But tonight, it's just telling me what I'm not hearing."

He nodded in understanding. "You're missing the Music."

"Yeah." She let her head fall back and studied the ceiling. "The worst time is when I'm almost asleep. I think that I can just hear it, and that wakes me up. But when I open my eyes, there's nothing but silence again."

"Sort of like a phantom sensation from a missing limb," the Doctor observed. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the fire in the hearth, not really seeing it. "Sometimes it's like a presence, a feeling that if you'd had one more second, you could really hear them. And sometimes…sometimes it's not just a sensation. It's pain. Agony. A raw, gaping wound that feels like it's ripped you in two, and it won't ever heal, and you can hear them screaming in your mind…."

He startled at the light touch on his arm, taking him from nightmarish memory back to the present. Kit had moved off her seat and was kneeling in front of him, sympathy in her eyes. "There's no screaming in the Music," she said softly. "And there wasn't any screaming at Gallifrey. Just in your own mind while you regenerated."

Staring, he leaned forward and whispered, "How do you know?"

Again, a sad smile as she wrapped her hand around his to give it a squeeze. "You heard the Music in my mind. You've got the memories, but you never looked for that song, did you? The one for Gallifrey?"

"I was afraid to," he admitted. "Afraid of what I would hear. And I was afraid that I might not hear anything at all."

"We all sang for Gallifrey," she told him. "Let me share the memory with you? You'll see there's nothing to fear in the Music." She pulled his hand up toward her temple. A little spark of humor flashed in her eyes when he hesitated, and she said, "Promise, I won't toss you across the room this time!"

His lips quirked in a slight smile of his own, and he pressed his fingers against her temple.

Golden light, nearly blinding in its brilliance, made him blink. He felt a hand on his arm as his eyes adjusted, and looked down to see Kit standing next to him. They were no longer in the TARDIS library, but he could just feel a sense of encouragement from his ship.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"Home," she said simply. "Or rather, my memory of it."

He looked around in surprise. "Home? You mean the Vortex? Can't be. The Vortex doesn't look like this. It's…it's dark with shifts of red and blue and—"

"You Time Lords and your limited perceptions!" she interrupted him with a wink.

He smiled back at her. "You've been waiting a long time to throw that one back at me, haven't you? So this is how you saw the Vortex?" He cocked his head, listening. "Where is the Music?"

"I wanted to be sure you were ready for it," she answered. She threaded her arm through his own and squeezed his forearm. "Okay?"

He took a deep breath, and then let it out as he gave her a single, slow nod. He gasped sharply as the Music surrounded them.

It was nearly tangible, soft and warm and comforting like a blanket of the finest hajjaska fleece. He could swear it had a flavor, too, rich and mellow with a familiar savor. A well-remembered scent wafted to him, and he began to see more than just the golden light.

_Home._ Not Kit's, but his own. He felt tears welling up as the Song recreated images that were more vivid than his own memories. First, the trees laden with silver leaves, swaying in a gentle breeze against a burnt-orange sky. Snow-capped mountains rose in the distance. He saw the shining Citadel, the Panopticon within, and he thought he could just make out some figures in brightly colored robes with stiff, high neckpieces, and others in billowing capes.

The Music flowed on, wrapping him in memories. Amongst the words the TARDIS couldn't translate, he could hear the names of the people of Gallifrey. So many names, so many that had touched his life somehow. Some for good and some for ill, but all mourned nonetheless. _Rassilon. Omega. Borusa. Flavia. Maxil. Hedin. Azmael._

Some of the names broke his hearts. _Leela. Andred. Romana._

_Susan._

"We sang them into our memories, and on to peace," Kit said softly. "They'll never be forgotten, as long as the Circles remain." She gave his arm another squeeze and began to sing along with the remembered Music.

He could feel the tears spilling down his cheeks as the harmony continued to soar around him. Kit's coloratura blended with the rest of the chorus, and while he still couldn't understand the words, he knew the angels were singing a message of comfort, reassurance and acceptance. Not just for his people, but for _him._

He'd never believed he deserved such empathy before. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, listening to the Song reach a crescendo. The Music and the scent of Gallifrey began to fade, and at last he opened his eyes.

The fire still crackled in the library hearth. Kit was still kneeling before him, her hand still laid over his against her temple. Her own face was wet.

"Kit…" His voice was hoarse from emotion, and his throat felt sore. He swallowed once more, and said, "That…that was incredible. I don't know what to say."

She gave his hand one more squeeze and moved off the floor, back to the other chair. "You don't have to say anything." She brushed her own tears away and curled up again in her usual fashion, staring into the flames.

They both sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the fire. Echoes of the Music still rang in the Doctor's ears. Finally, he said, "You came to me for help, Kit, but—"

"That helped me more than you could know," she replied. One side of her mouth went up in a wry smile. "I missed the Music, but I was afraid to remember it. I thought it would hurt too much." She chuckled a little. "It's easier to be brave for someone else's sake than it is for my own."

"It was more than just memory," he said. "It was comfort and…absolution."

Her smile softened. "You never needed to be absolved, Doctor. You just needed to know that you served what must be, just like we do." She paused and corrected herself. "Just like we _did_."

He leaned forward, smiling. "You still do. There's other power besides what's in the Vortex, you know. And you can still serve what must be without being able to see it in advance." He picked up his book, flipped to a page and read aloud:

_"Now let the night be dark for all of me.  
Let the night be too dark for me to see  
Into the future. Let what will be, be."_

He looked back up at her. "The poem is called _Acceptance_."

"Something we both need to remember," Kit said, uncurling and standing up with a yawn.

"Think you can sleep now?"

She smiled. "Maybe. But even if I can't, now I'm missing Jack's heartbeat."

"Not the snoring?"

She laughed. "I never should have told you that!"

He stood up. "Our secret. Promise!" He reached out and drew her into a tight hug. "Thank you, Kit."

"You're welcome, Doctor. Any time. G'night!"

He watched her leave, and glanced down at his book one more time, reading Frost's words again. He felt some reassurance from the TARDIS, and a suggestion that he needed some rest as well.

The experience had been a bit draining, so he didn't resist the suggestion, heading to his own room and slipping into the warm bed next to Rose. As she snuggled into him, he closed his eyes and began to feel that familiar phantom sensation. But instead of jolting awake, he held Rose a little more closely and opened his mind to the feelings.

He drifted to sleep, buoyed by the sounds of angel voices and the images of golden light, silver leaves and a burnt-orange sky.


	3. Chapter 3 All That We Love Deeply

**Author's note:** Over the past few weeks, I've been visiting my late mother's home, sifting through memories. Between that and the recent death of David Tennant's mother, this story demanded to be written. Unbeta'd, so all errors are my own. And that's all I own out of this.

* * *

One of Dad's bowling trophies, liberated from the cupboard.

A pair of dangly pearl earrings. Not real, of course, but the best Mum could afford for her wedding.

A photo album bound in brown leather.

Fragments of a life interrupted.

Rose looked over the small collection of mementoes she'd gathered in the flat. This place had been her whole world once. Now it was distilled to just a few trinkets.

Once the Doctor decided she'd recovered enough to take the TARDIS out of the Vortex, she asked him to take her home for a little while. "I don't want strangers going through Mum's things," she'd said.

So he'd taken her home, setting the time coordinates for a couple of days after Canary Wharf. He went out into London with Jack and Madhukar to discreetly check on the aftermath, leaving her alone to sift through old memories.

Her gaze fell on the tiny bottle made of bezoolium. Rose sniffled a little as she remembered the day she brought that home. The day her whole world got turned inside out.

Blinking rapidly to try to keep the tears away, she looked around and spotted the newspaper the Doctor had picked up from the doorstep. Unfolding it, she read the headline blazoned across the top: _Death Toll Rises From Battle of Canary Wharf._ Below that, in smaller print: _List of the dead begins on Page Three._

She opened the paper and flinched when she saw Yvonne Hartmann's face smiling up at her from the middle. There were a few lines about Yvonne's career as director of Torchwood, all a careful fabrication with nothing to indicate that she was the reason for the whole list in the first place.

There were other pictures scattered within the grey columns of names. Some of them had short obituaries; something to let people know that they were loved, that they'd made a difference somehow.

Rose flipped through the pages, so many pages. She froze when she saw her own picture on one of them. _Rose Tyler, 20, Powell Estates, missing, presumed dead. _And just above it, _Jackie Tyler, 40, Powell Estates, missing, presumed dead._

Nothing more than that. Just the names. The paper probably had her picture from that year when everyone thought she'd been kidnapped. But nothing more than that.

Now the tears did come.

The outside door opened. "I sent the others to go check on Downing Street. And your mother's goldfish have a new home," the Doctor said, coming in. "The little boy three doors down was happy to take them—Rose?"

She couldn't answer him. She was gasping for air through sobs, and she didn't know why. _We said goodbye. We said everything there was to say. Mum is happy. Why am I crying?_

Arms enfolded her and cool lips were pressed to her forehead. "It's all right, Rose. Go ahead and cry. You need this."

She let him lead her over to the sofa. They sank down onto it, and she leaned into him, still weeping. He just held her, one hand making small circles on her back.

After a while, she felt wrung dry of tears. She pulled back from the Doctor's shoulder to see him gazing at her tenderly. "Feeling better?" he asked softly, pulling a handkerchief from his jacket pocket.

She nodded as she dabbed at her eyes. "Yeah. Dunno why I started bawling like that. I think I just…" she hiccupped, and went on, "I think I just realized that while Mum is still alive, and happy, for me she may as well be dead. I'm never gonna see her again, or Dad. I'm never gonna have more of them than this." She motioned at the items she'd collected around the flat.

His eyes followed her gesture, then returned to her. "Oh, Rose. These are just _things._ You have so much more than that. You have all the memories and all the love you shared. That will always be there, whether you're inches away from each other or a universe away." He reached out and cupped her cheek. "_All that we love deeply becomes a part of us._ Helen Keller. Blind, but she saw more clearly than most stupid apes."

He said it with such affection that she laughed a little and snuggled back into his arms. "She was right. You're a part of me," she said.

He kissed the top of her head. "Oh, I know."


	4. Chapter 4 Threads of Gold

**Author's Note:** I started this last fall in response to something I read about compassion fatigue. It got put aside a few times; I'm still not sure that I haven't been too self-indulgent with it.

Storyline Note: By this time in the "Tracking Torchwood" timeline, Madhukar has left the TARDIS. That story still remains to be written.

Doctor Who and its characters are the property of the BBC. Kit is mine, along with any mistakes since this is not beta'd. The poetry quoted is by Christopher Pearse Cranch, 1813-1892.

This is for all of us who've had a bit of a tough time with things lately.

* * *

_Sometimes a post-traumatic roll in the hay is the only answer._

Jack drew Kit's trembling body down and kissed her softly. "Okay now?" he asked.

She didn't answer. She just moved to rest her ear against his chest, probably listening to his heartbeat. She hadn't said anything since they'd stood at that window, her hands pressed against the glass and his arms wrapped around her.

He could swear he'd felt her heart breaking then.

They'd returned to the TARDIS in silence, her face a blank mask as they walked. No tears. Jack looked bleakly at the Doctor and Rose, then followed Kit back to their room. Once he closed the door, she threw her arms around him and pulled his head down to kiss him desperately. Desperate for connection. Desperate to stop the hurt.

And he was just desperate enough to try anything to ease her pain. So he made love to her, answering her desperation with tender kisses and caresses, trying to calm her and assure her that she wasn't and would never be alone.

Now he stroked her back gently as she lay against him. She sniffled a little. "Sorry, Jack. That was…I shouldn't've…"

"Yes, you _should_ have. It's what you needed. I'm here, whatever you need. Always." Her breath caught in a sob, and he planted a kiss in her hair. "Ssssshhhh. It's okay. I love you." Now he felt tears falling on his chest. "No need for sorry, Angel."

_Hours earlier…_

Jack grinned as Kit skipped into the console room, a Red Sox cap on her head and a baseball glove in her hand. "So, you're gonna be an angel in the outfield today?" he teased.

"Gotta be ready for those foul balls!" she replied cheerfully.

"Actually, Jack, there _will_ be angels in the outfield this game," the Doctor said, pulling one last lever. "And in the infield, and at bat. Game seven of the 1986 American League playoff series, the Boston Red Sox versus the California Angels. The series is tied up and the Red Sox have a chance at their first pennant in more than a decade."

"Amazing!" Rose observed from the jump seat. "Blokes are blokes, whether they're human or Time Lords. I think they have a section of their brains reserved just for sport. Who bothers to remember this stuff?"

"I do!" Kit and the Doctor chorused. They stared at each other, and she giggled. "I'm a fan. What's your excuse?"

The Doctor tapped his temple. "I'm a Time Lord."

"And you looked it up first," Jack said dryly. He shrugged at the Doctor's glare, pointing at the monitor. "You left it on the screen." The materialization sequence ended with its familiar _thump_. "I hope your Time Lord senses got us here before the game this time."

"Why do you all doubt me whenever we arrive somewhere?" the Doctor complained as he went through the door with Rose.

"Experience," Kit retorted, taking Jack's hand as they followed the others.

"And maybe because you have another bloke habit. Getting lost and not asking directions," Rose added. "I know I haven't been to 20th-century Boston before, but from what Kit's told me, this doesn't look like Fenway Park."

The TARDIS had arrived on an outdoor concourse. Jack looked at the people passing by, many dragging wheeled suitcases and talking on mobiles. "I'm fuzzy on late 20th century history, but I'm pretty sure cell phones weren't around in 1986."

"Sure they were," the Doctor answered. "They just…weren't as small as these." His voice lost its usual note of self-assurance. "And…most people didn't have them…"

"And I don't think people bring baggage to a baseball game," Rose added.

"All right," the Doctor conceded. "Not 1986, and not Fenway Park. Sorry, Kit."

Kit pulled away from Jack to peer inside a newspaper vending machine. "Not even Boston, Doctor. This should be the _Globe_, but it's the Newark _Star-Ledger_." She gasped suddenly, dropping her baseball glove. She shot Jack a wide-eyed glance and then took off running down the concourse, her cap flying off in her haste. Jack and the others stared for only a beat before starting after her, dodging passersby in their path.

She ran through a sliding glass door. Above it, a sign read, _Newark International Airport - To All Gates._ There was also a marquee scrolling the time and date. Reading it, Jack's felt his insides turn cold. Rose gasped in surprise as the Doctor breathed, "Oh, no no no no."

_7:41 AM September 11, 2001._

They ran into the terminal. Kit was already halfway up the escalator to the gates, running up the steps. Jack and the others followed, but were blocked by a knot of oblivious tourists and their carry-on bags. By the time they pushed their way through the group, Kit had already disappeared into the crowd. "Damn!" Jack cursed. "Which gate?" He went to the bank of departure monitors to look for the gate number.

Rose followed with wide eyes. "Doctor, Kit wouldn't do anything to change what happens, would she?"

"You know about gingerbread houses," the Doctor said grimly, also looking at the monitors. "And angels can fall."

"Not if we're there to catch her," Jack answered as he spotted the flight listing. "A-17! That way!"

They headed toward the wide passageway at the end of the terminal. Dozens of passengers were waiting to pass through security. Now Jack could see Kit, reaching the line and calling out. He couldn't hear her over the terminal's bustle, but he saw two people turn toward her: a tall man with graying hair and a slender auburn-headed woman. Kit fell into their arms.

"Should we just be standing here, letting this happen?" Rose asked, her chin trembling.

The Doctor's expression was somber. "Probably not."

"No Reapers, Doctor," Jack pointed out, his voice rough with emotion. "We'd have seen them by now if this wasn't supposed to happen."

"They still have to board the plane," the Doctor replied. "Come on."

They approached the group, huddled in a tight embrace. Then Kit drew back, wiping her eyes. Her voice quaking, she said, "Jack, Rose, Doctor…these are…you'd call them Jophiel and Kristine. My parents."

Jack felt himself pinned and measured by the crystal blue eyes of Kit's father. Measured and apparently found acceptable, because the angel smiled at him then. "There's nothing to fear here, Jack."

"I know, sir," Jack replied. "No Reapers."

Kit's mother laughed warmly. "Don't be formal, Jack! Use our heart names. Kris."

"Call me Joe," Jophiel offered. "Relax, Doctor. This is what must be." He looked down at Kit. "The Music brought you here."

She stared in surprise. "But…you must know I'm not part of the Music anymore."

"Not _hearing_ the Music doesn't mean you're not part of it," Joe told her. "No matter the reason you can't hear it."

"All living things are part of the Music of Time," Kris added. "Even them." Her eyes shifted past them.

Jack casually followed her gaze to see a pair of dark-haired men standing in the line. They were trying to act nonchalant, but he saw the nervousness in their stances and in the way they looked around. Not quite enough to alert the poorly-trained, bored-looking security guards, but enough for a Time Agent taught to watch out for meddlers in history.

"Are they..?" Rose whispered.

"Yes, Rose," Joe answered. "Don't stare."

She looked away, and said, "They look like ordinary blokes. They're so young."

"Only a little older than you were when you became the Bad Wolf," Kris said. "But you're never too young to change the world."

"But…" Rose started protesting loudly, quieting when Joe made a quelling motion. "Do they have to change it this way?"

"You already know the answer to that," said Joe. "Bad things do happen to good people."

"And sometimes great evil is needed to bring about greater good," the Doctor mused.

Kris smiled. "You've come a long way from the stable in Bethlehem, Doctor. You didn't want to accept that then." She nodded slightly at his surprised stare. "From today comes the birth of the future. It's just one necessary link in a chain of human events spanning millennia."

"Excuse me." A woman in a United Airlines uniform had stepped up to them. "You folks are holding up the line."

"Give us a minute," Jack asked her quietly. He inclined his head toward Kit. "She's not going to see her family for…" He felt a lump rise up in his throat at the look in Kit's eyes now. "For a long time," he finished hoarsely.

"I'm sorry—" the woman said, stopping when Joe raised a hand and waved it slightly. She nodded. "We'll let the others go ahead. You can get back in when you finish with your goodbyes," she said, and stepped back a discreet distance.

"Jedi mind tricks are always useful," Joe said, smiling slightly. He laid a hand against Kit's cheek. "Remember this, when you don't think you can understand.

_"O Light divine! we need no fuller test  
That all is ordered well;  
We know enough to trust that all is best  
Where Love and Wisdom dwell._

Christopher Pearse Cranch. It's in the TARDIS library."

She gave him a watery smile. "You don't usually give me such long quotes."

"It has to last you," he said, stroking her cheek. "It's time, Kit-kat. The Music plays on. We can't hold up history."

She held on to his hand. "Not so soon!" she protested. "I tried so many times to reach you before, but something kept blocking me until now."

"It wasn't in your Music until you could no longer hear it," he told her gently.

"But it's not fair!" Kit looked rebellious. "What's the point of it now if it's only for a minute?"

"No more point than this," Kris said, drawing Kit into a gentle hug. "Just a chance to say goodbye."

Joe folded his arms around both of them, and the family huddled together one last time. The public address system blared, _"United Airlines Flight 93, service to San Francisco, now boarding at Gate A-17."_

Sighing deeply, Joe kissed the top of Kit's head. He beckoned to Jack and laid Kit's hand in his, and then wrapped his own around them both. "You're her family now, Jack. All of you are."

Kris kissed Kit, murmuring, "We have to go. Jack, thank you." She laid a hand on his cheek, and suddenly he felt a moment of warmth, acceptance and even gratitude flowing from the two angels. Then they pulled away gently, stepping back into the queue.

Jack put his arms around Kit and felt her shaking as she watched them pass through the scanners. Once on the other side, Joe turned back to call out, _"D'hiraya'azvasa, Kit-kat!"_

She nodded and swallowed back a sob as she rested her head against Jack's chest. The two angels disappeared into the crowd.

The airline worker approached them again. "You can watch their flight take off from the concourse," she said kindly.

Together they slowly walked toward a set of empty seats near the windows. People darted around them, intent on their destinations, no one paying any attention to the somber group. Kit sank into one of the chairs, burying her face in her arms. Jack settled next to her, gently rubbing her back. Rose sat on her other side, putting a hand on Kit's shoulder. The Doctor leaned against the window, lost in thought.

They heard the final boarding call. In a muffled voice, Kit said, "The flight will be delayed forty minutes. You don't have to wait. I'll catch up after…"

"I'm not leaving you here," Jack said firmly.

The Doctor knelt down in front of her and reached out to make her look up at him. "Of course we'll wait. All of us. That's what families do."

She let out a long breath and nodded. He stood again and moved toward the window, once again leaning against its frame.

They waited.

Kit sagged against Jack, as if she'd been totally drained. He wrapped his arms around her and laid his cheek against her hair. Rose patted Kit's shoulder and then squeezed his arm in reassurance before getting up to join the Doctor.

"I was only fourteen, but I remember how awful this day was," she said softly. "It's hard to believe that everything is so normal right now, everyone just going about their business."

The Doctor looked around, checking that no one else was listening, but they were still being ignored by the passing travelers. Then, in an equally soft voice, he said, "Things are normal _here,_ Rose. But American Airlines Flight 11 is being hijacked even as we speak. Ninety-two people are on board, heading from Boston to Los Angeles…but they'll never make it. The plane will hit the World Trade Center's North Tower in about half an hour. And then, nothing will be normal in this country again. Not the normal that everyone's known until now." He stared off into space. "Nothing on Earth will be the same."

Jack had seen that faraway look before. He imagined the Time Lord was seeing history, watching timelines shift into place.

"United Flight 175 is just taking off, also from Boston to Los Angeles," the Doctor continued. "Fifty-six people are on it." He paused and shook his head. "Funny thing. Not one of those planes was filled anywhere near capacity."

"Sometimes the universe is kind," Rose said.

Jack felt Kit flinch at that. He stroked her hair soothingly.

The Doctor went on, "At about the same time that Flight 11 crashes, Flight 175 will be hijacked and flown to New York to hit the South Tower. But before that happens, American Airlines Flight 77 will get hijacked. It'll end up crashing into the American Pentagon, with sixty-four people on board. Then the towers will collapse in New York, and thousands will die," he concluded with a shuddering sigh.

"I remember watching it on the television. It was horrible. Mum cried," Rose said. "I know we can't stop it, but I wish..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked back out the window at the 757. "What about Flight 93?"

"It'll be the last to go down," Kit answered, very quietly. "The only one that doesn't make its target. It was supposed to hit the White House. But instead, the passengers will fight back. The plane will crash in a field in Pennsylvania." Her voice had become thick. Jack gave her a squeeze and kissed her temple.

"It doesn't make any sense!" Rose said, defiance in her voice.

Jack snorted. "Terrorism never does."

"No, that's not what I mean," Rose said. "Why do Kit's parents have to...to die to make sure the passengers fight back?"

Kit laughed bitterly. "I spent a long time trying to figure that out, Rose. I looked for answers in so many places. Talked to so many people. Oracles, seers, philosophers…wise men and women and—_others_—all over the universe."

"An angel turning to mortals for enlightenment?" Jack asked.

"Knowing what must be doesn't mean we always know _why_." She sighed and looked back out the window. "But the answer always boiled down to what the First Circle said in the first place, and what Jophiel told me back there. Even that poem means the same thing in the end. _D'hiraya'azvasa._ And I try to. I really do, but—" She stopped with a small, sharp intake of breath, and stood up. "They've pushed back from the gate."

Jack followed her to the window. Rose and the Doctor stepped apart to let her stand between them at the glass. They each put a hand on her shoulder. Jack slid his arms around her from behind as she stared outside. Together they watched the jet move slowly across the tarmac, taxiing off toward the runway.

"What's it mean, Kit?" Rose asked. "The TARDIS won't translate it. _Diheer—diheereye—"_

_"D'hiraya'azvasa,"_ Kit corrected. "The TARDIS can't translate it. Too complex for mortal minds. Even hers."

"What's the simple version?" Jack asked.

She sighed, laying her hands on the glass, and said, "It means _trust in what must be._"

Jack kissed her cheek, and the Doctor and Rose both stepped a little closer. Huddled together, they waited for history to play out as it must.

* * *

Kit cried herself to sleep, and it showed in her shadowed eyes when they went into the console room the next day. The Time Rotor was in motion, the Doctor moving around the console while Rose watched from the jump seat. Some books were piled next to her. Jack raised an eyebrow when he saw a baseball glove and a bouquet of white flowers on the console. When he caught the Doctor's eye, the Time Lord shrugged. "The glove is the TARDIS' doing."

Jack smelled new leather as Kit picked the glove up and turned it over in her hands. Her face was impassive.

"Your glove was gone when we came back through the airport," Rose said. "The hat, too, but the TARDIS didn't come up with one of those. I think she wants us to get you a new one at Fenway Park."

Kit put the glove back down. "I'm not really up to a baseball game today, Rose."

"We didn't think you would be," the Doctor said. "Fenway will wait till another day. You need to break that glove in first anyway, right? Can't catch foul balls with a stiff glove, can you?"

"Suppose not," Kit replied without enthusiasm. She picked up the flowers, holding them close and inhaling, then offering them to Jack to do the same. The flowers looked something like Earth irises, each bloom having three large, feathery white petals streaked with pale gold, golden stamens in the middle. Their scent reminded him of jasmine and honeysuckle. He gave her a smile that she returned only half-heartedly.

"You didn't need to get me these, Doctor," she said softly, "but…thanks."

"Actually, they're not for you," the Doctor said. "Well, not for you to keep. But we do have something else for you. Rose?"

Rose held up one of the books. "Your father was right," she said. "That poem was in the TARDIS library. There's a lot more to it." She opened it and read aloud,

_"No night so wild but brings the constant  
sun  
With love and power untold;  
No time so dark but through its woof  
there run  
Some blessed threads of gold._"

"Some horribly mixed metaphors there," the Doctor said, getting a brief smile from Kit in answer. "But the point is, terrible as that day was, there were threads of gold. The courage of Flight 93's passengers became an inspiration. September 11th united most of humanity across the world."

"It didn't last for long," Rose said, "but for a while we were all in it together, you know?"

Jack nodded. The impact of that day still resonated even in the 51st century.

"Each disaster that struck, each attack that terrified, each tragedy that tore at people's hearts," the Doctor said, "they all strengthened the human race and made it ready to face the next thing. That's what gave humanity the spirit to get through World War Three, and then to 'boldly go' and colonize outer space."

"One necessary link in a chain of events," Jack said, remembering Kris' words. "You know, in the Time Agency they told us history is just a fragile house of cards. I might never have been born if those planes hadn't crashed."

Kit gazed thoughtfully at the flowers. "Sometimes great evil is needed to bring about greater good."

"Greater good and Jack Harkness in the same thought? I don't know if I'd go that far!" the Doctor said, winking. "But I'll admit he can be handy to have around sometimes. Like right now. Jack, would you help me, please?"

He joined the Doctor in starting the arrival procedure, while Rose beckoned Kit over to the jump seat. "Kit, I don't think I'll ever understand why they had to die. But I do think I understand why it had to be them," she said. She read more from the book.

_"We know enough to trust that all is best  
Where Love and Wisdom dwell."_

Rose picked up the other book, holding it so Jack could see the cover with its painting of a Renaissance angel. She said, "This was next to the poetry book. It fell open to this page, about the Archangel Jophiel and Archaeia Kristine."

"Legend says they represented love and wisdom," the Doctor added as Kit handed Rose the flowers in exchange for the book. She turned the pages slowly.

"It's just like they told you, Kit. Diheer…" Rose stopped, and then said with conviction, _"D'hiraya'azvasa._"

"All was best because they were there," Kit murmured, and set the book down. She moved beside Jack, watching the monitor as the rematerialization sequence ended. She looked up at the Doctor in surprise at the readout.

Quietly, he said, "Sometimes pain can be eased best by sharing it with others who bear the same burden. Humans call it closure."

"That's what these are for," Rose said, standing to return the flowers to Kit and put an arm around her shoulders. "Come on."

The Doctor paused to pick up the poetry book before nodding at Jack and following the women. Together they stepped out of the TARDIS, into the warm air of a late summer Pennsylvania afternoon. They walked across a grassy field toward a long wall, where a large crowd of people had gathered.

As they drew closer, Jack could see that the wall was actually a fence, flags fluttering all across its top. The links were covered with hundreds of mementoes, leaving practically no open space. Flowers, crosses, baseball hats, greeting cards, children's drawings…and photos. So many photos, of the victims and of those who were left behind. Kit was gripping his hand tightly, and he returned the pressure, feeling overwhelmed by the emotion in those simple tributes.

"I remember you." A woman was approaching them. She was out of uniform, and she looked older and grayer than when they'd last seen her in Newark. She stopped in front of Kit and put a hand on her arm. "You're the one who didn't want to say goodbye to your family at security."

"My parents," Kit said.

The woman nodded. "I still don't know why I let them step out of line," she said, "but I'm so glad I did."

"Me, too," Kit said in a quavering voice. She drew the other woman into a hug, and they began to weep together.

Jack moved closer to Rose and the Doctor, who had a melancholy expression. _He'll never have this kind of closure himself,_ Jack reflected as he exchanged a glance with Rose. _But we'll do the best we can._ He put an arm around the Doctor's shoulders.

After a moment, the woman pulled away from Kit. "I don't want to crush your flowers," she said. "They're lovely. I've never seen anything like them. What are they?"

"They're from Hanauma," the Doctor answered, giving Kit a small smile. "The natives call them 'Angel Wings.'"

The strange white flowers were still fresh, a week after the 9/11 anniversary service. Ranger Lissa Munroe had never seen anything like them before. But while they were still oddly beautiful, they had to go to the Park Service's Memorial Archive, to make room for the new tributes that came in every day. She pulled the flowers down, reading the torn-out page attached to them.

_No night so wild but brings the constant  
sun  
With love and power untold;  
No time so dark but through its woof  
there run  
Some blessed threads of gold._


	5. Chapter 5 Batting Practice

**Tales Told In A Minor Key**

**Chapter 5 – Batting Practice**

**Pairing: Jack/OC  
**

**Author's Note: **In honor of baseball's opening day and another season of hopes and dreams, a missing moment from Arc Four of "Tracking Torchwood," an AU Doomsday fixit. Non-"Torchwood" compliant, but I've borrowed some bits and pieces from S2.

Batting technique comes from baseballcorner dot com.

This is also a slightly-late welcome home gift for Aibhinn, who always loved Kit and her baseball bat.

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: Only Kit Morgan is mine, and I make no money from this.

* * *

Jack's blaster was still right where he left it in the wardrobe room. He tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, chuckling as he remembered Kit's scolding. _Next time, remember the **blaster** and leave your **libido** in your other pants!_

It was the adrenaline talking, of course. _She'll get over it,_ the Doctor had told him after she'd stomped out of the console room. _But if you see her with her baseball bat, you might want to be careful._

Jack patted the blaster and headed toward the door, eager to get back for a closer look at the clockwork androids. The retro-style robots had just been coming out when he was last in the 51st century, and his inner geek (he smiled a little at the memory of Tosh and one of her favorite phrases) wanted to see what made them literally tick. But as soon as he stepped out of the room, he stopped in confusion. He was sure he just walked out of the same door that he'd come in from, but this wasn't the same hallway.

Well, he'd encountered the TARDIS' penchant for sudden remodeling before. Usually it meant she was up to something. There was only one way to go, so he followed the curving hallway until it dead-ended at a closed doorway. He could hear a thumping sound on the other side of the door, followed by a rather distinctive, metallic _crack_.

_Just my luck,_ he thought. "Oh, no, you don't," he said out loud to the TARDIS. "I'm not going anywhere near her when she's got her baseball bat. I've been warned!"

He turned on his heel, to find that the corridor had sealed off behind him. He had nowhere to go. "Hey!" he protested. "What's the idea?"

There was no change in the usual background hum of the TARDIS. "I thought you liked me!" he said. The wall of roundels remained in front of him. "You girls stick together, don't you?" he grumbled. "All right, all right." He turned back to the door, and with a sigh, opened it and went through. He stopped in the doorway and smiled broadly at the sight before him.

Back on the Boeshane Peninsula, they usually played baseball on the beach. But Jack could remember Dad once taking him to a real ball park when he was very, very young. It looked much like this, a wide, lush green stretch of thick grass. Lawns were an almost unknown luxury at home. He'd always remembered the brilliant sight and the green, green smell of the turf, a scent that was so different from the sea air he'd grown up with. He still enjoyed the grassy smell, and took a deep breath to savor it.

The TARDIS had created a regulation ball field, with chalk marking out the foul lines and red earth separating the outfield from the infield. Kit was at home plate, her back to the entryway where Jack stood, a tall backstop separating them. She hadn't noticed him coming in yet, focused as she was on the pitching machine on the mound in front of her.

She had traded her 18th century dress for jeans and a white baseball jersey with red piping. For a moment, Jack wondered how she'd managed to undo the buttons down the back of that dress. He'd hoped to help her with them himself…He shook that thought away and quietly walked toward the backstop.

She stood in the batter's box partly crouched, with her bat held high. The pitching machine spat out a ball, and she swung the bat in a low arc to meet it, stepping into the swing and making contact with a ringing _crack._ Jack whistled appreciatively as the ball sped just inside the third base foul line, flying low and fast toward left field.

Jack's whistle made Kit whirl, holding her bat in a defensive position that made him glad the backstop was between them. "Sorry," he said, holding his hands up. "Didn't mean to startle you."

She lowered the bat. "Thought you and the Doctor were going to work on those androids."

"We are, but–" He decided not to mention that the TARDIS had directed him here. "I thought I'd see how you were doing first."

Kit turned back toward the pitcher's mound, resuming her batting stance. "I'm fine, Jack." She swung again, this time missing the ball that came in low and outside. "No harm, no foul." She hit the next pitch, but the ball flew outside chalk line and rolled past first base. "Well, maybe a foul ball or two. But I'm okay."

He walked to the edge of the backstop, leaning against the fence as he watched her swing and miss again on a high curveball. "So that's why you're swinging at bad pitches?" he asked.

She turned back to him with a challenging glare. "Let's see you try!" She walked over to him, offering the bat. "Show me what you've got, Captain."

He knew she was expecting a suggestive reply. Instead, he just smirked and took the bat, slinging it over his shoulder and sauntering toward the batter's box.

It had been a long, long time since those games with Dad and Gray on the beach. He pushed back a pang of sadness and slid the bat from his shoulder to look at it. This aluminum bat would send a ball out farther and faster than his old wooden bat ever had.

That is, if he could manage to actually hit anything after so many years.

He glanced back at Kit, who had moved behind the backstop, leaning against the fence and watching him expectantly. "I'm waiting," she called.

He moved into the batting position he remembered and tried a few experimental swings. Then he looked at the pitching machine. _Go easy on me,_ he thought to the TARDIS. _I've already looked like an idiot in front of her once today._

A ball launched out of the machine at him, far inside. He stepped back to avoid being hit. _Hey! Are you mad at me too?_

"She's tricky!" Kit advised with a laugh.

He shot a glare back at her and moved into position again. Another ball flew his way and he swung, slicing through the air but not making contract.

"The count is now one ball, one strike," Kit said in what was apparently intended to be a play-by-play announcer's voice. "Harkness steps back to the plate and stares back at the pitcher. I think he's forgotten that machines are immune to his charms! He stands ready at the bat…and here comes the pitch! He gets a piece of it! It goes up, up…aw, and drops right to the shortstop. Tough luck for the Captain!"

He turned back to her with a shrug. "It's been a while. And your bat isn't exactly right for me. I usually use something bigger." When she rolled her eyes, he protested, "What?"

She swung around the backstop fence to walk toward him. "I don't know how you manage to make everything sound like an innuendo," she said. "But don't go blaming the bat for your lousy stance and follow-through."

He raised an eyebrow. "Lousy, huh?"

"Awful! You do know how to pick a pitch, but you won't make good contact if you're not set up right. Come on, I'll show you," she said, moving to stand on home plate. "Take your spot."

With a chuckle, he complied and held the bat up. She looked up and down at him critically.

"You need to tuck in your chin and your front shoulder," she said. "Like this." She demonstrated and he followed suit. "Good. Now, your hands aren't back enough." She reached up and moved his hands into position. "And your back elbow should be up a little more." Her hands were soft and warm, and he smiled down at her at the contact. She blushed a little and said, "Don't be watching _me._"

"Aw, but I like watching you."

Another eyeroll. "Eyes on the pitcher, Captain. Turn your head a little more left so you have both eyes on the pitcher."

"Yes, Coach." Without moving his head, he flicked his eyes her way to see that she'd stepped back to study him again.

"Okay, show me your swing."

He swung the bat around in a wide arc, and then looked back at her again. She was shaking her head. "You're stepping too far into the swing. That can throw you off balance. And you need to keep your front shoulder down. Try again."

He swung again, and she shook her head again. "You're not keeping your front shoulder down. That drops your back shoulder, and it'll make you upper-cut the ball. You want to be on top of the ball. Like this." She turned away from him to mime the correct technique, then glanced back over her shoulder at him. "Got that?"

He frowned a little. "I'm not sure. Let me try it again." He took another swing.

She sighed. "Here. Let's try it this way." She stepped toward him and ducked into the circle of his arms, her back pressing against his chest and her hands covering his around the bat. "Don't get any ideas, Captain."

"Who, me?"

He smiled when she snorted. "I'm not susceptible to your charms, either."

"Oh. So you do admit I have charms.'

She huffed. "I'll remind you that I use this bat for more than hitting balls, Captain!"

He laughed. "All right, I'll behave!" He shifted a little so their bodies were aligned flush against each other.

They'd been this close just an hour ago, but at the time he'd been focused on trying to protect her from the lawnmower android. Now, he could enjoy the contact. The floral perfume she wore mingled with the scent of the grass, and her hands felt even warmer than before. She was probably blushing furiously, but her voice didn't betray any nervousness. "Now, follow my lead." Together they moved through a swing. "There. Feel the difference?"

"Mmm-hmm." He could also feel her trembling a bit. "So, where'd you learn to play ball?"

"My dad taught me," she answered. She guided him back to a ready position. "Again." It was like a dance, with her leading as they swung and stepped. Rose's long-ago double entendre on dancing popped into his mind, making him take a quick breath. Kit felt his momentary loss of concentration. "Pay attention, Captain, or you might get clonked by a fastball. One more time." They moved together once more. "Good. Now let's see if you can do it on your own." She slipped out under his arms and turned to look at him.

No blush. He felt a little disappointed. Then he took another swing.

"Much better," she said. "Let's see how you do with a ball now." She moved behind the backstop again.

He turned back to the pitcher's mound. "All right, let's do it," he said under his breath to the TARDIS.

Another ball flew out. Chin and shoulder tucked, back elbow raised, eyes locked on the ball, taking only a short step, he swung in a slightly downward motion and connected. The ball shot true and straight out into far left field. He moved back into his batting stance one more time and took one more hit for good measure.

Kit applauded. "Not bad, Captain."

He slung the bat over his shoulder and ambled back over to her. "My brother and I used to mess around with baseball a bit. Dad never got the chance to seriously teach us anything."

"What happened?"

The pang of sadness returned. He didn't dismiss it this time. "He died. Our colony got attacked, and after…there was just me left." He held the bat out to her.

"So you're an orphan too," she said softly, reaching out and laying a hand on his.

"You too?"

"9/11. My parents were on United 93." Her face clouded a little, making her look very vulnerable.

That bit of history was still taught in his time. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Her still very warm hand remained on his, resting on the knob of the bat. He put his other hand over hers, and they stood just looking at each other. After a moment, she said, "Aren't you supposed to be helping the Doctor?"

He nodded slightly. "Yeah. He's probably gonna come looking for me in a moment." He let her hand slip from his grasp to take the bat from him. "Are you coming?"

"I'll be along in a minute," she said. "I need to pop back to my room, and I'll be along."

He looked intently into her eyes. "Not mad at me any more? We're okay?"

She smiled a little. "Not mad anymore. We're good, Jack. Now, better go check on the Doctor. He might just go and re-activate Mr. Mower."

He laughed. "That would be a disaster!" He put a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks for the batting lesson." He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and then headed back to the door. Passing through, he saw that the wall of roundels was gone. "Thanks," he said softly to the TARDIS.

-0-

Kit watched Jack leave the room and blew out a sigh. After a moment, she said, "What was _that_ all about?"

The TARDIS seemed to be smiling. She could hear the timeship's humor and pleasure in the Song. Kit shook her head.

"You know I come in here to work out the adrenal excess so I can hold this form. So you send him in here and get my adrenaline going again? I nearly lost control! If I had gone and _changed_….I don't know what that would have done."

The TARDIS' melody remained quicksilver light and unconcerned.

"Come on now. You need this to all work just as much as we do. You know those rift recharges give you indigestion. And you're limited until we get this done. So why would you risk things just to let him flirt with me?"

The TARDIS kept humming away. Kit frowned and closed her eyes to focus on the Song. She could visualize the threads of harmony weaving together as strands of varying shades of gold: a deep, near-bronze for the Doctor and a bright white-gold for Jack. Her own silver ran alongside them, and they were joined by melodies of light yellow gold and a coppery strand, all surrounded by the rainbow luminescence of the TARDIS. Her frown grew a little deeper as she followed the threads, and then her eyes flew wide open in surprise. _"What?_"

She'd only caught a brief flash, and tried to catch the thread again. But it was gone. The Music had played on, eventually fuzzing away at the edges of her perception. "That can_not_ be what I think it was."

The TARDIS' merry hum didn't change.

Changing might give her a better look, but she didn't dare risk it at this point. Jack or the Doctor could come looking for her again, and right now the timeline adjustment was becoming too critical for her to take a chance just to satisfy her curiosity. She'd see what it was soon enough, when she left the TARDIS to go home.

_"D'hiraya'azvasa,_ is that it? Well, that's nothing new. Just…don't do that to me again, okay? We're too close now." When she felt the TARDIS' somewhat reluctant agreement, she swung the bat up over her shoulder and strolled out to join the men.

1. You Go To My Head2. Elegy3. All That We Love Deeply4. Threads of Gold


End file.
